


Another Way to Pay

by Keys13Aquaries13



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Original Mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:18:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10209467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keys13Aquaries13/pseuds/Keys13Aquaries13
Summary: A rainy day calls for ways to pass the time.





	

 

Another Way to Pay

It was one of the rainiest days in the history of the African grasslands of proud Africa. Animals and humans alike were nowhere to be seen, for they were only focused on finding shelter in the heavy rain. All did so, except the black-and-white haired woman with the cold obsidian eyes that only looked down the path she walked. She held a large tightly wrapped bundle in her arms as though it was a baby, but it was far too large to be an infant.

 

Only the old man resting in the shades of a rocky cave took notice. Scarred and elderly was his skin but his mind still retained a childish curiosity. One of many ways to induce an early demise, for it only creates wanting.

 

Against his inner conscious voice, he called out, “You there! The woman who carries the bundle in her arms!”

 

As though his voice broke a trance, she stopped. She was apathetic to the rain and raised her head like the rising sun. She turned to face him Something about those obsidian eyes seemed odd and unsettling to the old man. There was something about those eyes he saw, but he could not think. His mind was only on the bundle. Now that he had her attention, the old man began to investigate.

“What are you doing in this pouring rain all soaking wet? What is in that bundle that you hold tightly against your ribs?” he asked.

 

Even in the dark cave, the old man could he see the bundle she tried to shield from the rain. Something was wrapped tightly and it was something enormous. The thought of juicy fruits, ripened yams and all good things that came from celebrations fueled his already full stomach. The thought of the bundle containing thousands of tiny cowrie shells or a million jewels made his rich mind hunger and growl with the ferocity of a thunderstorm. “ _ Just what was in that bundle, that is worth so much to her?” _ , he wondered.

 

As though she had sensed his internal hungers, she answered with bitterness, “You are better off never knowing. I am surprised that someone old as you has managed to live this long and still hunger for more than you should earn.”

 

For a woman, she had the audacity to criticize this old man. She tried to sate his hunger as best as she could. “I’ll answer it like this; I am and have been traveling because I search for a man of chalk. He was once considered king in Africa, regardless of color, but he forcefully built his throne with blood and iron shots. His throne was a web that killed and expanded with every lie, fear, and drop of spilled blood. He did all this with every member of his family’s blood as he took away the homes of villagers. That ended the day the lion ripped apart his intertwined throne and web and burned his blood in fire that is called hate. He left him with nothing, but I travel because I have something that will hopefully relieve him of that pain from the scars left by the lion’s talons.”

 

Her words were clear and carried into the dark cave, her voice was beautiful as a singing bird voice. Though she explained why but not what was in the bundle, but it did not satisfy the old man in the dark cave.

“How come you are not searching for shelter in this pouring rain?” he asked again.

“Because it is very impertinent that I find him and give this to him.” she replied.

“How impertinent must it be to travel in this rain?” he asked once more.

 

She gave him an ominous smile, amused by an invisible, but dark joke, “More impertinent than his very old life. Something worth more than his precious gold and jewels.”

 

Unfazed but still greedily curious, he called out, “Then I welcome you into my home. If it is that impertinent it will do you no good if you continue to walk. You will only make yourself weak and ill.”

 

She was already weaker than he made her out to be. She walked all day and all night for two market weeks. Her feet were in pain, but only when she stopped did she feel it. Only when she paused in the minute did she feel the heavy burden in her arms and feel her straining muscles ache.

“Very well.” She solemnly responded.

It took her everything in her mental stability not to collapse and even more to hide the pain as she entered the dark cave. She sat on her knees in the position of a proud warrior. Something a normal woman would not do. Luckily, she belonged to no man nor tribe as she lived to be in her twenties. Even in the dark, upon closer inspection, the old man could tell she had thin blue rings within those black obsidian eyes. Ominous, eerie and beautiful indeed they were like the underground darkness full of glistening sapphires.

“I thank you for your kindness. It’s nice to see a kind heart in these harsh times that we call war. It has been too long since I remembered the feeling of pain in the mortal flesh we inhibit. I barely remember what it was like”, she said coolly.

 

“You do not feel pain?” the old man asked in astonishment. “Even if a thousands spears are embedded in your back?”

“Never in the clouds am I impervious to such except for pain in the heart. Only when my feet are on the ground does my skin come alive,” she coldly remarked.

 

They sat in silence as the rain fell like tiny drums. The dark was welcoming and provided better shelter against the terrible forces, but to be in darkness is to never experience hardship. Silence was forever present in the dark cave and the bundle was ever still close in her lap.

 

The old man eyed the bundle with greedy intensity, yet the woman paid no attention but knew where his eyes laid on the bundle.

 

“You carry it as if it was a precious infant of your own. Why so precious is it to you that you are willing to give it up to a man so wicked as you say he is? Why must you keep it and strive to protect it that you risk your own well being in the sea of tears that is the rain?”, he asked

 

The woman only smiled her eerie, ominous smile; her fangs underneath were like needles among her ivory teeth as she spoke, “You have the eyes of a greedy vulture who always takes all the hard-earned food from the feast animals be they predator or prey who come together to help each other in dry days. Those with greedy never make the attempt to pay the price and therefore must pay the price in another way far worse.” Thunder clapped and roared in agreement in the distance.

 

“But very well. I shall satisfy your greed to know, but mark my words, you WILL have to pay the price after hearing my words. Understand?” she questioned him with the intensity of a snake’s eyes. He nodded eagerly.

 

She untied the knot that held the cloth together. She slowly unraveled the cloth delicately. She cared for it so dearly as though it was living, but no emotions of such love could be seen in her obsidian eyes. Her smile disappeared and was replaced with a gentle closed mouth as she unraveled it.

 

As it was unraveled, the color of chalk caught his attention and two hollowed abyss for eyes stared directly at him with anger like bright fire. Every the time cloth unraveled it seemed to grow even stronger.

Her beloved was a skull. A proud male lion skull with a scar on the surface of the side of his head. His hollow eyes were full of wrath, as though as he was still alive and out for blood. His teeth were sharp as spear tips. Surely a ferocious beast he must’ve been. Her eyes were relieved,  like greeting an old friend.

 

“H-how?” the old man cowered further into the shadows in fear of such a ferocious king long dead. If only he realized right then and there…

 

“Foolish old man, you got what you wanted, but you were not ready to pay for it. Surely, you yourself have taken down worse beasts than him have you not?” she said in response to his cowering. The woman’s words were filled with disappointment iced with bitterness.

 

Her eyes turned to the skull and waves of unseen tragedy washed over her obsidian eyes as she continued.  “You see him as the lion of vengeance. The same lion who tore down the chalk-king’s empire.”

 

“I cannot believe this is him. I have heard many a tale of him but never have I seen him here only as a mere trophy,” he murmured.

 

“He was not always a beast nor was he the lion of vengeance. Perhaps if I took you to the beginning that was his tragic upcoming,  you would think twice about calling him a beast.” Her voice became a soft low growl, contrasting her harsh masculine bitter voice from before. She gently stroked the skull as though he was merely asleep in his flesh. Such love in her porcelain fingers was present as she caressed the skull’s scar.

 

“He was once a cub with nothing. His mother abandoned him when he was a runt. He was once known as Clei, the abandoned one. He often wandered the grasslands and was cared for by a mentoring ox known only as Father. Clei was always searching for something or someone to belong to to call home. Eventually a family did, a family of two humans a father named Sammi and his son El. Sammi was kind who looked out for everyone, even if they were not human. Because of this, he easily formed a mixed tribe, though he disagreed as he liked to call it a family. He treated Clei as though he was his second son of flesh and blood. Those were two fundamental things that helped him grow and become strong every day. Soon he became one of the strongest of the family. He was known for being brave against enemies and loyal to his friends and family. Especially to Deyna, the magpie shrike in the family, for she loved flying close to him, spending whatever free time she had sleeping in his soft wild maneand Clei enjoyed her company as well, for she kept the mosquitos away from his flesh and warned him of any future dangers. As close as he was with Deyna, Clei was close with every individual of his family, closer to Sammi. He loved them so much, he was willing to die for them even if it meant keeping them safe from danger.”

 

She lightly balled her hand into a tight fist after that last sentence. Sadness was a heavy burden on her shoulders.

“A shame he could not grant his own wish.” she said plainly.

The old man swallowed the stone in his throat.

“Why not?”, he asked.

Her teeth gnashed underneath her lips,  “They were murdered in the rain much this rain. The family was celebrating a good year after they feasted. They played in the rain dancing, singing and laughing. Clei was among them, as was Sammi and El and Deyna. Then…”

 

The woman found it hard to continue. It was like a bad memory from long ago, but it felt like it was only just one yesterday old,   “The Chalk-king came with his iron soldiers and their wooden rifles. They came to take their supposed share of the land for their grand huts that billowed smoke. Sammi had previously given them a piece of their land after gaining anew from successfully defending their home from a warring tribe. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for the false king. That lesson was learned when his son took a rifle to Clei’s head and fired an iron shot. He was the first one to fall and could watch as the Chalk-king’s men lay waste to his family. He could only watch as the puddles turned red and hear innocents scream and thunder roaring. After satisfied with the carnage, the King took his men left, satisfied that no one would stand in his way of talking what he wanted when he wanted it. Stealing and proposing to buy but never pay was their way of life. The King learned tragically that that was not the case, and he learned that soon enough.”

“How so?” the old man asked.  He had so many questions, like a teen who never learned for he could never comprehend on his own. “Something deep down inside Clei’s bones ignited. A tiny spark, but it quickly grew like a wildfire in dry season. As luck had it, the bullet only grazed the side of his skull, but it did not stop the internal fire from burning his flesh and leaving behind only his skull. This was no ordinary fire nor was it his Chi, for this the was the true fire of vengeance. It consumed him and he welcomed it, for it would help him take revenge and even the odds to make the King felt what Clei just felt. To endure what he lost, in exchange the fire occupied his very soul. Wrath to keep the fire bright.”

“After that?", he continued to ask.

 

“He created his own family to fight against. Compiled of victims of the King’s onslaught as it goes,” she began to recite the old words of the family ties.

_ A cheetah of magic whose daughter was viciously ripped from her heart” _

_ A monkey of vanish whose son was stolen and lost the force of life from the celebration that became tragedy _

_ A vulture of strength and honor ruthlessly humiliated  _

_ And those those that chose to accompany him were his dear friends, the only survivors of the celebration: _

_ A hyena who never laughed and looked to the ideas that were justice _

_ And finally his dear magpie Deyna who took Father far away from the carnage and was connected to the threads of both the living and the dead.” _

 

“Altogether,” she continued, “destroyed the foundations the King stood on that was his kingdom and killed his family in return. They took back what he stole and rightfully returned it to the tribes and animals, yet they feared them and Clei the most, who became known as the Lion of Vengeance. After the death of his son, the King fled his ruined kingdom. It seems he finally became the old man he truly was and it is rumored he continues to wander in the dark.”

 

Her words were angry and bitter capable of inflicting pain but her voice was calm and reserved.

“Then what became of---”, he was suddenly interrupted by a  mass of blue flame spontaneously light up, illuminating the cave to reveal the old man’s chalk-white skin.

“Right here in here in front of you is a trap and yet it didn't awaken your senses. We have come to take what you once stole from us." her voice became a mixture of masculine and female tones distorted into a wailing lullaby.

The fire encompassed the lion’s skull and manifested his fur and body. The flames partially burned away the woman’s skin and eyes, revealing black and white feathers and an eye of ivory white pupils and midnight sclera. When they revealed their true forms the old man cowered in fear.

 

“Foolish King, here is a lesson. When you want something, you will have to pay for it with something else of equal value. If you don't there are always consequences that follow you and force you to eventually to give something up valuable and precious that you need to live. You have spilled a lot of blood and now you and your family will pay for justice and equivalency.”

The old man pleaded. He begged to be taken to the chalk court where he would be judged and serve justice herself and to pay for the blood bit by bit. He’d live and maybe justice would’ve been served peacefully. Unfortunately, to the many he angered, it would never be the fair price.

She chuckled maliciously. “Don’t you know?”

 

Clei roared like thunder and booming gunshots and lunged towards the old man with his bared teeth as his claws drowned the screams that followed.

 

“Vengeance does not always serve justice. But it sure does make up as a form of currency when it comes to equivalent exchange.”

-End

**Author's Note:**

> My literature class just finished up "Things Fall Apart". After that we were suppose to create an african folk tale based on one of the themes present in the book. One of them was "Vengeance does not necessarily bring justice.", and as some of you know vengeance is a theme in Mafia 3 so... Here we are. The relationship between Lincoln and Dana (had to change the names to fit in the african folktale theme srry.) is pre-established in my rp tumblr blog. This is all the notes for now, I will update them later. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> -Keys


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